I always check my account
to see how many likes I got
on a poem I wrote
But sometimes,
just knowing a few people
even viewed it
and know that I'm hurt,
which is usually what I write about,
even if they don't care,
is kind of...good, I guess.
It's hard to believe there's
something like 6500 views
on all my poems combined...
hard to imagine all those experiences
of different people
with different minds
experiencing what I wrote in some way
even if they just read a few lines
and moved on for good
I wonder who all of you are

My counselor asked me
if it bothers me that she moved on
what appears to be quickly
and how I feel about it

It's a heaviness in my chest
and a tightness
and it keeps me warm
in the worst way possible
when I decide to look her up on facebook
or when I realize
she's getting ****** by someone else

I mean, it ******* hurts, man
it makes me angry,
and under the anger, more hurt,
but is there really any point in talking about it?
Because it's been months
and I feel like I'm getting nowhere

It just feels like
I don't want to finish this ******* "poem"

It feels like I want to call her a *******
for lying to me
I want to call her a ******* fool
for throwing me away
for apparently not caring about me
enough to even tell me how she felt

But for whatever reason,
I still think highly of her
I still wish she hadn't gone,
and in my broken, weak, ******* heart,
I still want her to tell me she was wrong

How is it supposed to ******* feel?

And by that, I mean my Turkey Cheese *****

But for real, it can also **** my *****

That is, my Stuffing *****

But, on a serious note... it can **** my real, actual *****

Of course, I'm referring to my Oreo Cookie *****

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

I hear creaks and cracks
as I fall asleep,
and I wonder
if someone broke in

But the chance
a ninja is sneaking
in here,
I think,
is very slim

How many more times
Will I watch a guy **** two girls
Before I kiss one I love?

and I'm not
going to
say it
to you,
so I'll just
say it
here instead

I'm still recognizing
your lies
three months later,
and it hurts
it really hurts.

I have all this depth;
a heart
that bleeds

But when I meet someone new,
it's blaaaaand
What's your favorite color?

Why can't my heart
come out
and speak for me?